Martyrdom Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be
by The Emmanator
Summary: Years later, Regulus Black would be hailed as some sort of martyr. But right now he's simply a slave to a cause he hardly believes in anymore. Of course, we all know Regulus Black finds a cause to die for.
1. You Know You're Not Alone

Part 1 of 2

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Martyrdom Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be

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In retrospect, Regulus Black knew some of his behaviors were pathetic. Pathetic in the way a puppy running back to its master that beats it is pathetic. He did it to his mother for nearly fifteen years until finally he was proved the more satisfactory son, he did it to Bella, pleading with her, telling her that yes- he was ready to be a Death Eater. He _could _handle it.

And when he did it to Barty it wasn't even just pathetic, it was sick.

But he thought that in retrospect, a lot of things about he and Barty were sick.

Barty was better at being a Death Eater than he was. He knew that. The hours wasted begging his cousin to believe him- that he _was_capable. It was pointless.

He didn't know if he could handle it.

He tried not to make it obvious, but it isn't even possible to hide something like that from someone who knows you better than you know yourself.

But Barty covered for him. He took the tasks Regulus couldn't. He volunteered before Regulus could say a word. Barty Crouch Jr. was good at hurting people.

Regulus was hardly even good for watching.

But of course Barty wasn't always around for covering.

He was on his hands and knees in the middle of the floor. His bedroom was so real, so there. His stomach felt hollow. He always felt like this after an encounter with death. Not like watching-people-die-death, like killing-people-himself-death. It made him sick and he didn't know why.

His bedroom door swung open and the clicked shut and another click indicated it was locked.

"Get up," someone said. The tone was commanding and harsh.

Regulus looked up before falling into a sitting position. It wasn't often he disobeyed orders.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that Barty Crouch was younger than he was.

His oldest friend kneeled down behind him.

"I cannot stress enough how important it is to stay level-headed in times like these. This is war Regulus, you knew what you were signing up for," he whispered in his ear. "This is not about blood or status, this is about power. Abandon all notions of blood purity and know that you have chosen the side that will overcome. You have chosen the winner. This is not about your family or your blood or my blood or my family. This is simply another power struggle."

"This isn't what I signed up for," Regulus whispered back.

"You just feel incapable."

"Killing people is not what I signed up for Barty."

"You have to crack eggs to make an omelet."

Regulus shut his eyes.

"I can't protect you forever, you know," Barty said, standing up and pulling Regulus to his feet. "I can't take on mission after mission to keep you from doing it. I'm responsible for you and I don't like it."

He nodded.

"But the second I'm not responsible for you, that'll be the end of you. You know this."

Regulus swallowed hard and nodded again. He wished Barty wouldn't stand so close, he was all too aware of the proximity and it made everything seem less and less comfortable.

"You'd be nothing without me. You wouldn't even be a Death Eater without me."

"I know."

"And you wondered why I always said you were better off without me," he whispered in Regulus's ear, turning towards the door.

Hours later, lying on his stomach staring at the pillow, Regulus thought Barty was right.

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	2. A Funeral Keeps Both of Us Apart

A/N: The second part. I think I'm going to write a follow-up including Sirius. It'll be fun! The part title and the "water in your lungs" comment are from _Play Crack The Sky _by Brand New. Where slash-goggles and you'll see the Barty/Regulus undertones.

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Martyrdom Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be

Part Two: A funeral keeps both of us apart

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Regulus knew he wasn't going to be responded to warmly. Here he was. Hardly eighteen years old. He was walking into his death.

He couldn't tell his mother.

He couldn't tell his cousins.

He couldn't tell his brother.

He probably _shouldn't_ tell his best friend.

But he was going to try.

Deep breaths.

He raised his fist and knocked on the door of the shabby flat. Barty had left his parents' house for a rougher part of London, and he liked it a lot better.

The door swung open and Regulus was staring at the cool (pretty, he always thought they were pretty) blue eyes of Barty Crouch Jr., at a loss for what to actually say.

He'd rather be looking at the tarnished brass number again.

"I'm leaving the Death Eaters," he said abruptly.

He had expected the door slammed in his face. He had expected a sneer or some expletives.

Instead, Regulus got punched in the jaw. Regulus knew nothing about Muggle dueling, but reacted instinctively, and before he had any real realization of what had actually happened they were rolling around on Barty's disgusting floor, punching whatever body part they could reach.

After a few minutes of nothing but the cold slapping of fists and grunts of the two teenagers, Barty rolled off of Regulus, pushing himself into a sitting position, wiping his bloody lip. Regulus sat up, winded, a bruise forming over one of his eyebrows.

"You're bloody insane," Barty spat.

Regulus shook his head. "I've got something to accomplish."

"What?"

"What's the use in living for something I don't feel like I could die for?" Regulus said, trying to keep his voice low. "I've found something worth dying for and I don't care if you agree or not."

"That's a first."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"it's the first time you've actually not cared about someone else's opinion. You're growing up finally."

Regulus ignored the biting comment.

"I want to destroy this," Regulus said, holding his arms out as to gesture to something bigger than he was.

"Destroy what?"

"The Dark Lord," he said, his head lolling to the side to face Barty.

"Why?"

He didn't know what to say to that. Because he hated that he didn't have the nerve that Barty did? He hated the Dark Lord for having the vision that his parents had implanted in him even though he was so wrong? Or just hated him for hurting his oldest friend, as pathetic as it was, his house-elf, Kreacher, the only person in the House of Black to really, really value Regulus…since Sirius left, at least.

"Because I just do."

Barty stared at the dirty linoleum. "…You'll die."

"I'm prepared."

"Why? Death is pointless when you can avoid it."

Regulus shook his head. "I can't. I have to. If I run away from this, if I step away from this- ignore the big picture, then when I do die, it's for nothing. I can have a cause, I can help _someone."_

"Help yourself!"

"I can't. Others need this more than I do."

Barty, he could tell, thought he was being utterly unreasonable. "You're going to sacrifice yourself for people who haven't even been born yet? People who may or may not even need the help? What about the people that need _you _Reg?"

Barty hadn't called him 'Reg' since they had left Hogwarts. Regulus blinked.

"No one needs me. I'm just a burden. To you. To my mother. To my cousins."

"No you aren't," Barty said indistinctly, staring at the floor, his eyebrows furrowed.

Regulus ignored the comment, and stared at the ceiling. "You won't have to be responsible for me," he said, sounding vague.

"What if I like being responsible for you?"

"You've already told me the opposite."

Barty swore. "Your mother is going to blame me. She'll try and get the truth out of me."

Regulus's glassy grey eyes met bright blue ones and he frowned. "You can keep my mother out of your head. Tell her you don't know. In reality, you don't actually."

He nodded, biting his lip. If this was anyone else, _anybody _else, he would've killed them on the spot for speaking of betraying the Death Eaters. But Barty knew he couldn't harm Regulus.

"Do killers have feelings?"

Barty stared at him for a minute. "I do."

"Do people like Bella and The Dark Lord?"

"I don't know."

Regulus sighed.

"Do you have to die? Can't you just…leave the country…disappear and then come back when this is all over? Does it have to be like this?" His voice cracked and Barty pulled his legs to his chest and hid his face in his knees. "I don't want you to die."

Regulus scooted a little closer to Barty, and tried to get him to sit up. "I'm sorry it has to be this way."

"This is what you want."

"Did you think we'd have a happy ending?" Regulus asked, a lump growing in his throat.

Barty shook his head from between his knees. "I thought it'd be _me, _I thought it was going to be me. I didn't think you'd be first. I didn't think you'd die at all. You're a lot smarter than me."

"No I'm not."

"How much longer?"

"All night if we have to."

Barty picked up his head and stretched out his legs. "I need you," he said abruptly. "You can't die. I need you."

"How do you need me?" Regulus asked. He had always been the one with the need. Barty didn't need anyone.

"If you go. I…I don't think I'll be human anymore."

He didn't have a response. He had never thought of that.

"You decide what makes you human, Barty," he said after the long pause.

"You keep me human."

"Someone else could do that too."

He shook his head emphatically. "You're the only one who ever has. Since I was a kid. You make me feel like I'm not…"

"…Empty?"

Barty agreed quietly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Regulus said. He felt his eyes tear up. "I just can't walk away from this."

"You're too honorable to be a Slytherin."

"Not really. I'm not a hero."

"Heroes are just idiots who got lucky," Barty muttered, his eyes on the leg of a battered kitchen table.

Regulus cracked a smile. "You've got that right."

The clock on the far wall chimed. It was ten PM.

Regulus stood. "I should go." He felt that staying any longer would result in being very delayed. There was a Horcrux waiting for him.

Barty stood quickly, running a hand through his hair. "Don't go yet."

"I have to do this."

"A few more hours," he commanded.

It was hard to believe that Barty Crouch Jr. was younger than him.

"Fine. But I'm not sitting on the kitchen floor anymore," Regulus said. "I have to leave before the sun comes up."

Barty led him to the dirty, knotty old sofa. They both sat down, but neither of them spoke for several minutes.

Regulus fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe. He looked at Barty, and then around the apartment.

"Are you going to tell Sirius?" Barty asked.

"No. He'd react like you did. 'You don't have to die, I can protect you from the Death Eaters, you can make it out alive'. The same tripe. But I have to do this. He wouldn't understand."

"Can you make me understand?"

"I don't think I should. If I told you anything, the Dark Lord or Bellatrix or someone could found out what I knew- what I told you…and they'd probably kill you."

"I'm better at Occlumency than you give me credit for."

"I know you're skilled. But…they're powerful. It's a precaution I have to take."

The blond nodded. "I can understand that. Secrets are how we survive."

"Or how we don't," Regulus muttered miserably.

"I really do need you."

"Like water in your lungs."

"You'd be surprised."

Regulus wasn't sure what he meant by that. He shifted on the sofa and rested his head on his friend's shoulder. "I'm glad this is the last thing I get to remember."

Barty ignored that comment.

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End file.
